


When Love And Hate Collide

by backseatdriver



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Babies, I am so sorry for this, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:31:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4463831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backseatdriver/pseuds/backseatdriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can't stop the hurt inside, when hate and love collide.  (yes, from Def Leppard)</p><p>The French used in this story was translated by google translate. Any difficulties should be attributed to that since I don't speak French! </p><p>I also don't own any of these characters except for names you don't recognize. If you got here through a google search of your own name or a name of a friend or loved one, turn away! And this is my first fanfic I ever posted here, so please be kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This wasn't supposed to happen.

This was supposed to be one of the best nights of his life.

He was supposed to be living it up with his teammates in their city, enjoying the amazing, glorious ride that brought them to this point.

Instead, here he was, in his house, HIS bed, just outside of Denver.

With him.

With this, this child. This boy who had idolized him from the moment he learned what hockey was, what it was to even be a goaltender. Once it was over, they shook hands as friendly as you could possibly be, aside from the fact that both of them wanted it. Patrick pulled the boy close as he gave him a friendly "well you tried" hug and heard him whisper, "Voulez-vous venir dans ma chambre ce soir? Je ne ai pas un colocataire."*

He wanted to say no. God, he wanted to say no desperately. But the look in his eyes, as both of their individual sets of pale blue eyes met, was just too much. He couldn't tell him no. He couldn't tell him to simply fuck off and leave him alone, to let him enjoy this night since it may never come again. Patrick knew he was getting old, he was in his 30s now, and he knew that that this could very well be the last time he ever got this close to Lord Stanley as a player.

Instead, he had given into him.

"Passons à ma maison à la place,"* he murmured in response, wanting the privacy. He at least wanted to spare the boy any ridicule he would possibly get from his teammates, the fans, hell, even the media. If word got out about this, both of their careers could possibly be in jeopardy.

Patrick couldn't have that.

He had worked too hard for too long to get to where he was. The media had more or less predicted that Patrick would be a first ballot inductee when the time came. He knew that would be soon, his body just couldn't move the same way that he did when he was 10, 15 years younger. Oh sure, the competitive spirit was still there, and he still relished a chance to win and beat the crap out of the other team, especially when it was Martin, but he was also realistic, knowing, too, that you couldn't play forever. It was impossible. And Patrick did not want to be told "you're too old, get off the ice." No, he wanted retirement to be on his own terms.

He felt the mattress shift and could just sense that he was looking at him, that he was probably giddy with some boyhood excitement at not only being in the same room with his idol but also being in bed with him.

Patrick sighed and looked over at him,"What?" "Nothing," he had propped himself up, laying on his side with one arm at his side while the other arm was holding up his head, with his fingers tangled amongst his dirty blonde hair. He was nude, Patrick knew that. They were both naked as the day they were born under the covers of the bed in Patrick's master bedroom. _"I'm going to have to burn these sheets,"_ Patrick thought to himself as the thought of Brodeur, naked, in HIS bed, in HIS room disturbed him just a bit. He didn't want the memory of knowing they had done this to plague him every time he washed the sheets or even slept in his own bed.

Yet, he smirked at Patrick, like he had known exactly what they had done, and he wasn't the least bit ashamed. How could he be? He had probably wanted this since he came into the league. No, since he was old enough to follow his father around as a little mop topped kid while the elder Brodeur was taking pictures for the Canadiens. It felt like centuries ago to Patrick, remembering that this man, who some saw as his equal and potentially his successor (but let's not get ahead of ourselves here), was once an innocent, harmless child who was just infatuated with hockey and loved spending time with his dad at work.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Well, you definitely weren't enjoying it, were you, Pat?" He joked, playfully nudging Patrick into the side.

"For the love of God, Martin," Patrick muttered through gritted teeth,"It's Patrick. Not Pat. If my mother wanted to name me Pat, then that is what she would've put on my birth certificate."

"Okay, okay," he held his hands up,"Patrick. And, you know, only my parents call me Martin. You can call me Marty, it sounds less...formal."

"I think what just happened here made things less formal between us, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, see, that's the thing, I don't know. But as I said, you were definitely enjoying it, don't say you weren't because you lie."

"Even so, I...," Patrick shook his head,"Look, you got what you wanted, okay? You fulfilled some sort of sick, boyhood fantasy and obsession that you have with me. You can finally tell everyone that you fucked Patrick Roy. Now, please, put your fucking clothes back on and get the fuck out of my house."

His expression changed. That joyful, easygoing smile was replaced with a scowl as he sat up, adjusting the covers over himself. He glared at Patrick, his eyes narrowing,"You think you can just have your way with me and then send me on my merry way like some hooker, like I'm nothing more to you than just a roll in the hay? No, fuck you Patrick. Yes, I wanted this, but I would not have agreed to come here if you hadn't suggested it. You invited me into your home like this, and now you're just so content and willing to get rid of me. Like it was nothing to you. You can't do this to me. Not after this."

Patrick opened his mouth like he was about to speak and then abruptly closed it, thinking and choosing his words wisely and carefully before responding. He had never seen him so angry, so vicious and downright spiteful. Every time he had seen Marty, he had always come across as a cheerful, laid back guy who had no cares in the world. This side, though, was a different side, and Patrick felt almost honored to see it, to see that there was more to Marty than he would ever let on.

"Fine, you can stay. Only until tomorrow after breakfast though. I mean, what kind of host would I be if I just threw you out on an empty stomach?" A part of Patrick was sickened by his words, realizing that he was playing right into whatever it was that Marty wanted from him. Still, the words echoed in his mind, what kind of a host would he be if he just threw him out like this? His proper upbringing in Quebec would be ashamed if they knew that he would ever consider treating a guest, even a guest such as this, so rudely.

"You can stay," he repeated, trying to calm Marty back down and to get that glare and that scowl off his face. It really didn't suit him to be so angry. "We'll go to bed, wake up tomorrow, have breakfast, and then I ask that you, please, leave." Every fiber of his being was resentful to his own words, but there was still that part of him, however small it may be, that actually felt horrible if he had just stuck by his original words and made him leave.

"Pancakes?"

"Fine," he sighed, settling back into his sheets,"Pancakes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *1. "Will you come to my room tonight? I don't have a roommate."  
> *2. "Let's go to my place instead."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos! You guys rock. I'm sorry that this chapter is short, but it's more or less a transition for what will happen next.

In the morning, Patrick had remained true to his word and did not immediately kick Marty out once the sun came up. He wanted to, yes, but he felt a strange bit of pity watching him sleep soundly and peacefully next to him. The sun coming in from the window near the bed gave the other goalie almost an angelic, cherub appearance with his dirty blonde hair, fair skin, and full face. He just looked so absolutely content right there, a beautiful sight to behold. Despite himself, Patrick heard himself sigh contently at the sight and briefly thought about kissing him again. Not that he hadn't done enough of that the night before.

But first, breakfast.

He got out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake his guest. He had no idea what Marty was like in the morning, but he figured that if he was like any of the other goalies he knew, himself included, he'd be an absolute bear to deal with. The mattress did shift just slightly as he moved his body away from his side of the bed and he hesitated, hoping he hadn't woken Marty up. Still, the younger goalie slept on, snoring and oblivious to what had taken place.

He went into his kitchen, preparing some coffee and letting it start to brew before focusing on making the promised pancakes. It wasn't until the pancakes were nearly finished and he was just about to call out to Marty to come downstairs that he heard the shuffling of feet and realized he was not alone. Patrick looked over and gave a friendly nod at the bleary-eyed, still half asleep, younger goaltender standing in his kitchen. Marty didn't look as cherubic now as he had when he was asleep, but there was still something about him that was incredibly sweet looking. If it had been the night before, Patrick would've ripped the clothes off of the man and made love to him right there in front of the counter and the stove. But, hey, a man's got to eat.

"Good morning," Patrick nodded,"Pancakes as promised," he motioned with his head to the skillet on the stove.

"Mmph," was the greeting he got in reply while Marty fished around in a cabinet for a mug, pouring himself a cup of the just now finished coffee.

"Do you need any cream or sugar with it?"

"Mmm, no. I don't mind it black." _"_

_Strange,"_ Patrick thought to himself, _"I don't mind black either. I guess we are a little bit alike after all."_

"Well, go ahead and sit down, make yourself at home, and I'll get these pancakes to you here in just a minute."

The domesticity of the situation was different for Marty. He didn't expect Patrick to be so, well, nice to him after what had occurred the night before. Sex was one thing, but morning after coffee and pancakes was quite another. He just didn't know what to think of it. He figured they would eat and then go their separate ways until the fall, both of them acting like this had never happened.

But, the Hockey Gods had other plans, as they always do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that, in this story, male pregnancy is common. The player who ends up being pregnant, who will be revealed in this chapter, is not the first NHL player to conceive and give birth. Thanks for the positive feedback thus far. Again, I'm sorry this chapter is also short, but it is needed to move things along a bit.

_Fall 2001_

_New Jersey_

When Marty didn't show up on time for physicals and workouts, Scott Stevens was concerned. He'd known the goaltender for years, ever since they started playing together when Marty was a rookie and Scott was in his second full season as a Devil. They had a friendship as good of one as you would expect between a Captain and his goaltender. Indeed, they saw each other as brothers along with being teammates and friends outside of the rink.

Sighing, he excused himself from the locker room and called Marty's phone number, knowing it from memory since they had called each other off and on during the off season. He wondered if something had happened. Was Marty sick? Had there been a family emergency? Did he get into a car accident on the way to the practice rink? All of these thoughts raced through his mind, and he was relieved when he heard the phone pick up and a voice on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Marty?"

"Mm, yeah?"

"Oh thank God," Scott let out a breath that he didn't even realize he had been holding,"Thank God it's you. Thank God you're okay. But, where the hell are you? We had physicals and shit today, man. You should've been here by now."

"Erm, Scott, I don't know how to say this..."

"What? Are you sick or something? Something happening at home? I'm sure it's not anything THAT bad, Marty. Come on, how long have I known you?"

"I think you might need to come here. This...this isn't something we should talk about on the phone."

"Jesus," Scott ran a hand through his hair,"That bad?"

"Just..just get here, okay?" Marty pleaded with his captain, "Please just get here because I'm freaking the fuck out and I need somebody to talk to."

"Yeah, yeah, okay. I'll be there in a few minutes. Just calm the fuck down, okay? Everything will be fine."

Not long after they had hung up, Scott went to Marty's home. The goaltender had told him that he would leave the door unlocked for him, so he just let himself into the beautiful home. Everything looked like it was in its proper place. He couldn't begin to imagine what on earth was going on with his goaltender, but something in his gut told him this was not going to be good.

"Marty?" He called out.

"In my room," he heard a voice call back at him.

Scott had been to Marty's home before, so he knew exactly where "my room" was. He walked down the hall and up the stairs before entering a large master bedroom. It was stylishly decorated in dark blues and greens, giving it a manly look but still homey at the same time. Scott was not prepared for what he saw. By now, Marty had gotten up and was looking at himself in front of a full length mirror. He was wearing nothing more than his boxers. Okay, Scott had seen Marty naked before in the locker room and in the showers after a game or a practice thousands of times.

But he had never seen _that_.

At least, not on Marty. Scott had 3 young children at home. He just _knew._

"M...Marty...," he let out,"is that? Are you?"

Marty flinched a bit when he heard his captain's voice from the doorway and turned, resting a hand on the soft swell that gently jutted just slightly from his waistline. He nodded, looking at Scott right in the eye as he spoke softly.

"It is. I am."


End file.
